


so far away from safe and sound (I've lost control)

by sleeplessmiles



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Post-Hive Ward, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 15:40:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6382474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessmiles/pseuds/sleeplessmiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he hears gunfire echoing around the base, Ward figures that his time is up - he's either going to become collateral damage here, caught up in the crossfire, or they'll send someone down to 'take care of him,' so to speak.</p>
<p>So it's a bit of a surprise when Jemma Simmons bursts through the door of the infirmary, looking generally disheveled and alight with the thrill of combat.</p>
<p>[Speculation for the Civil War arc]</p>
            </blockquote>





	so far away from safe and sound (I've lost control)

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully it should be clear enough, but just in case: Jemma's used the chemical from Creel's blood to somehow remove Hive from Ward's body and save his life in the process.
> 
> Enjoy!!

 

 

When the sound of gunfire filters down to the Playground's infirmary, Ward doesn’t think much of it. Nor does he panic.

He just… accepts it.

It’s not like he’s going to be able to do much in the event of enemy fire, anyway. He’s been confined to his bed here for a few weeks now, his body still too exhausted from his life-saving procedure to even _move_ , let alone escape or put up a fight.

Even if he wanted to.

And then if it’s SHIELD, if they’ve come to end his life, then that’s… well. That’s that, really. He’s cheated death for long enough; he’s wreaked disaster amongst these people he used to count as friends, changed them irrevocably.

If it’s SHIELD, then it’s due. _Over_ due. He’s not going to argue that.

He’s at something like peace with it.

(His lack of alarm about the whole thing should feel more foreign, he guesses, but he’s been no stranger to odd sensations over the past weeks. What’s a few dulled senses when an alien being was removed from his brain and his body restored to life?)

Anyway.

The point is, he’s stuck and he’s not concerned about it, so he’s content enough to just stay in bed and let the chips fall where they may.

That is, until Jemma Simmons appears on the other side of his room’s glass door.

Holding a gun.

She’s come to put a bullet into his brain, he realises, a sick feeling settling low in the pit of his stomach. It’s fitting. Disturbing, of course, and there’s almost a macabre sense of poetry to it - to the feeling of a final punctuation point on the whole ordeal, coming from the most innocent of his victims - but it’s fitting.

He’ll take it.

Jemma’s fiddling at the latch on the door now, so Ward closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to make this harder on her, and he’s not sure he can bear to see her do it - to spend his final moments on earth watching this girl be the killer she feels she must be in order to survive now. There’s a sort of hollowness in that, in the gutting knowledge that he contributed to the transformation. 

(Perhaps he’s a coward after all, unable to stare into the burning magnesium flame of his destruction.)

The click of the door latching shut behind her is deafening.

Her footsteps seem to echo as she walks further into the room.

_Do it,_ he urges mentally, squeezing his eyes more tightly shut. _Just do it. Don’t overthink it. Just pull the trigger._

Another step closer.

_Do it._

He hears her inhale shakily and he braces himself…

_(Do it do it put me out of my misery_ **_do it_ ** _-)_

… but the shot never comes.

‘Get up.’

There’s the soft _thump_ of something being thrown onto the foot of his bed. Ward opens his eyes to see a pile of fresh clothes and a pistol. 

_What…?_

‘Are you not listening to me? Get _up_.’

Looking up at her in confusion, he’s a little startled to find her about as unpolished as he’s ever seen her. Sleeves rolled up to her elbows, she’s tapping the barrel of the gun against her leg nervously as she shifts her weight from foot to foot. There’s hair falling out of her hastily tied ponytail, and behind her frantic expression, behind those anxiously darting eyes, there’s a furious fire raging.

So, naturally, Ward does what any informed person would do when confronted with a skittish, irate Jemma Simmons.

He jumps out of bed and begins to pull on the pants.

‘What’s going on?’ he asks, trying not to let his emotions colour his voice with all that they betray. Apparently satisfied that he’s in motion, however, Jemma simply stalks over to the door, peering down the hallway. She shows no sign that she’s even heard him.

Disconcerting. But Ward gets the feeling that now’s not really the time to point that out.

(Hell, that isn’t even his place anymore. He forfeited that right.)

He tears off his hospital gown (good fucking riddance - the only tragedy here is that he doesn’t think Jemma will let him give it the fiery death it deserves), and swallows down the ridiculous pang of hurt - the one that he knows is because she hasn’t spared him even the briefest of glances.

_Get your shit together, Grant._

‘We don’t have much time,’ she’s saying. ‘The window of opportunity isn’t as substantial as I’d’ve liked. Can you shoot a gun?’

Halfway to reaching the boots she’s brought, Ward’s hands still.

_Escape?_

Wait.

Is she busting him out? 

He considers her for a moment, his heart sinking with the realisation.

She is. She’s busting him out. Which means that Coulson (or some other higher up, but Ward’s under no illusions here: it’s Coulson) has passed an unsavoury verdict, and Jemma doesn’t agree. So she’s trying to save him from it. 

He feels himself deflate, shaking his head a little. A hollow disappointment floods him.

Because he can’t go with her.

He can’t.

‘Simmons.’

‘We’ve got to hurry,’ she says, still not looking at him but gesturing now with the pistol in her hand. The action looks out of place on her, but he supposes that’s more _his_ problem than anything else. He’s sure Jemma Simmons with a gun must be a commonplace sight, these days.

Ward squeezes his eyes shut.

‘Wait.’

‘They’re still held up back at - ’ 

_‘Jemma.’_ That gets her attention. He meets her wild gaze with his, calm and firm, and folds his arms. ‘I’m not going.’

Shocked into silence, her eyes flash dangerously at him. She looks to be preparing for a fight.

‘I’m not running again,’ he continues, voice level. ’Whatever they - whatever _you_ decide to do with me, I’ll take it.’

Scoffing, Jemma rolls her eyes. ‘Oh, spare me the - ’

‘ - I’m _serious_ , Simmons. You can’t - ’ he cuts himself off abruptly, not wanting to take it _that_ far, but at the impatience on her face, he sighs and continues anyway. ‘You can’t save me from this one.’

But to his surprise, she only rolls her eyes again.

‘Ugh. That isn’t even _remotely_ what’s happening right now. Look, I’ll explain everything, but it can’t be here. Now, do you think you’re able to shoot a gun?’

He says nothing, only stares back at her, immovable. Stepping further into the room, Jemma squares her shoulders and meets his gaze head on. When it becomes clear that he’s not going to budge, she clenches her jaw and breaks eye contact before releasing the single most agitated sound he’s ever heard. Her free hand balls into a fist.

‘The government passed the Registration Act, alright?’ she relents. She sounds tired, but most of all she sounds seriously pissed off. ‘Captain America has openly opposed the laws, Stark is trying to contain him. The Avengers are split, governments are all over the bloody shop, and the world is in utter chaos. Having _quite_ a few powered people present here means that there are understandably tensions, many of which are presently working themselves out just down the hall from us. Now, I’m only going to ask once more: _can you, or can you not, shoot a gun?’_

Ward picks up the gun without further question. 

Relief flutters briefly across her face, breaking through her anger and impatience, but it’s soon chased away by that familiar smug assurance of hers.

‘Good,’ she decides. ‘Now stay close.’

And then, she’s darting out the door.

_Fuck._

He pulls on the boots and scrambles to follow, wincing at the tugging across his ribs but needing to catch up to her anyway, to catch up to her before -

Oh.

He skids to a stop.

Because Jemma Simmons knows exactly what she’s doing.

She’s had _training._

The way she’s holding her gun, her grip - it’s all textbook. But even so, she’s clearing the corners with the air of someone who knows precisely what she should be doing here, but who has never had to do such a thing before.

Somehow, miraculously, it’s still _her._ It’s classic Simmons. May (and it’s gotta be May; this has May written all over it) has done one hell of a job.

Doesn’t mean his heart doesn’t clench at the sight.

‘Hate to sound ungrateful,’ Ward begins, trying to hide just how taxing this whole exertion thing is on his body (not that he’d admit it, but he can barely even walk to the bathroom and back yet - not without becoming exhausted, anyway). He clutches at his side with his free hand. ‘But is there a reason people are shooting at you?’

‘They’re not shooting at me specifically,’ she retorts, matter-of-fact, before darting across the next hallway. He peers around the corner to check for himself before hobbling after her.

‘Of course not,’ he mumbles under his breath. The withering look she shoots him for that has him throwing his hands up in surrender.

She takes off again and he lets her, this time, trusting her expertise and knowledge of the base over his limited experience. He simply scrambles after her for another minute or so, trying to keep his pained pants as quiet and subdued as possible.

(He has a _reputation_ to uphold, after all.)

‘There’s a chemical,’ Jemma begins eventually, her words only just audible over the echoing gunfire and her own heavy exhalations. Ward glances down at her, the flashing emergency lights casting her features in an eerie glow. ‘I found it. Isolated it, really. It reverses the effects of Terrigenesis.’

‘The one you used on me,’ he guesses.

‘The very one and the same,’ she confirms, tossing him a brief look before focusing on where they’re going once more. Ward has to hurry to keep up with her furious pace. 

Which is impressive, really, given her size, but that’s a thought for another time. 

‘Anyway, you can imagine how such a chemical would be seen as a threat in the present climate.’

At the sound of approaching footsteps ahead of them, Ward puts out a hand to stop her forward motion. They both back up to the wall and hold their breath, listening as the footsteps seem to falter, then continue away in another direction, becoming fainter and fainter. 

Ward releases his breath.

‘Did you weaponise it?’ he prompts.

‘Of course not!’ she hisses at him, incredulity etched into her very expression. ‘That’s the last thing _anybody_ needs. We used it for you, and we used it for Andrew. That’s _it._ ’

‘Okay.’

She grabs a fistful of his shirt, preventing him from turning away.

‘Wh-?’

‘I _mean_ it, Ward. Do you honestly think I would - ’

‘Hey, alright, alright!’ He raises his hand in surrender. ‘I believe you.’

‘You do.’ She steps back. ‘Well. Good then.’

‘Yeah.’

Releasing his shirt, she turns to do an ammo check as though none of that ever even happened. 

_Okay?_

(He subtly smooths out the front of his shirt while she’s not looking.)

‘They know that I would _never_ use it for that,’ she mumbles, her forehead creased in worry. ‘I - Lincoln knows, I’m sure of it. And Daisy… Daisy knows. She knows that I wouldn’t…’ She trails off, frowning even deeper, and it’s pretty clear that she’s trying to convince herself more than anyone. Ward clears his throat uncomfortably.

‘So. Where is it now?’

Jemma blinks out of her thoughts, looks up at him sharply. ‘Where’s what?’

‘The chemical.’

‘Oh.’ Evidently back in business mode, she peers around the corner of the next corridor. ‘I swiped it.’

Ward can’t help it; he raises both eyebrows. ‘From _SHIELD_?’

(It seems his _Furiosa_ comment hadn’t been that far from the mark after all.)

‘Mm-hmm,’ Jemma confirms, patting her jacket pocket a couple of times. Catching sight of his expression, she bristles. ’Only once all of this started up!’ she defends. She throws a hand up to encompass everything currently transpiring around them. 

At least, that’s what he assumes she means. It’s pretty vague.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she chides, ‘I was hardly going to let them get - DUCK!’

Reflex - and the sudden, frenzied look on her face - has him throwing himself to the ground immediately, releasing an ungainly _oof_ noise on impact. He’s instantly grabbing for his gun and rolling over -

Just in time to see Jemma empty three ICER rounds cleanly into the middle of the guy’s chest. Perfect centre of mass. 

Well, shit.

He’s missed _a lot._

‘A bit of warning next time?’ he can’t help but jab, using the wall to leverage himself back upright. She whirls around to face him, and the anger blazing in her eyes makes him regret it immediately.

‘For your information, I warned you as soon as I bloody well saw - ’

_‘ - down,_ ’ he instructs calmly, firing a few shots over her head at a remaining assailant. It’s not until he’s dispatched the guy that he realises Jemma had ducked equally as instinctively as he had.

Jemma seems to notice at the same time that he does, raising startled eyes to his.

He stares back. 

It’s… weird.

(He likes it.)

Tearing her gaze away, she adjusts her clothes and clears her throat. ‘Right.’

‘Yeah.’

And that’s that, apparently, because then she’s off again, hurrying down the corridor. Wincing and grabbing at his side, he goes to follow.

‘So you went back for the samples - ’

‘ - and the formulae,’ she adds helpfully, running to the next corner and flattening her back against the wall. Given her size and stature, he can barely pick her out in the filtered light of the corridor. Ward follows as quickly as he’s able, but not without shooting her an impressed look. In fact, by the time he reaches her side, it’s almost a smile.

She’s clearly been working with May a _lot._

‘And the formulae,’ he amends, trying to steer them back on track. ‘And then…’ 

‘And then?’ she demands, distracted and impatient all at once. He rolls his eyes; they can play this oddly polite guessing game all day, or he can just cut to the chase.

(His impatience wasn’t a thing Maveth took from him, clearly.)

‘Simmons. Why am I here?’

She stiffens, pointedly avoids eye contact.

‘The infirmary’s relatively close to the lab. I was merely - ’

‘Jemma,’ he warns.

‘I wasn’t going to let you die, Ward!’ she blurts out, exasperated. 

Just like that. Just like it’s indisputable fact - because to her, evidently, it is. 

Ward’s mind goes blank.

_You’re a person,_ she’d declared to him, back when he’d asked why she saved him. Her lips had pressed together seriously. _No person deserves that fate._ At the time, he’d believed her - it was impossible to _not_ , with how unfailingly sincere she’d been - but unlike now, he hadn’t really come to terms with the reality of it.

This is real. She truly believes him worth saving, no matter how she may feel about that fact personally.

And the thing is, he knows that he doesn’t deserve this. He _knows._ He’s done absolutely nothing for her to take this stance.

But that doesn’t matter. She has anyway.

It must be showing in his stunned expression, echoing in his continued silence, because she begins to fidget uncomfortably.

‘Can we _please_ move on now? I’m not sure whether or not you’ve noticed, but this is hardly the time for a heart-to-heart.’

‘Yeah,’ he croaks out.

Too late, he notices an armed man in black rounding the corner, taking advantage of their inattention, and Ward can’t move fast enough, he can’t get in front of Jemma he _can’t_  -

But the man doesn’t attack. Instead, his jaw drops open in shock once he sees them, and he turns to flee in the other direction.

Neither Jemma nor Ward speak for a few moments.

‘That… was unexpected,’ Ward says.

‘Maveth,’ Jemma breathes in realisation. Ward freezes at the mention of his captor, a cold wave of horror washing over him. Noticing, she bites her lip apologetically.

‘Oh, fu- sorry, no, I just meant - that man, he still thinks you’re him. It.’

Of course.

_(Breathe through it.)_

Ward cringes. ‘Thought they knew you cured me,’ he says shakily.

_(Breathe.)_

‘It wasn’t a _cure_ ,’ she explains impatiently. ‘It was clearly - ’ 

‘Simmons.’

Jemma rolls her eyes but concedes, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The familiar reaction calms his panic somewhat. 

‘This uprising - I’m not sure it’s that organised a movement, Ward. It’s more like a knee-jerk reaction.’

_(Focus on the mission.)_

‘So you’re saying they don’t all know.’

She shrugs. It’s a strange look on her.

‘That guy’s gonna run back and tell everyone,’ Ward thinks aloud. Jemma shakes her head emphatically.

‘No he won’t,’ she argues. ‘He still thinks you’re him.’ 

But Ward’s already shaking _his_ head before she finishes talking.

‘He saw us together. He’ll guess.’ 

‘You don’t know that,’ she counters stubbornly. She’s already raising her chin, preparing for a fight again, so Ward turns to her more fully.

‘You have to assume the worst of these situations. Field Ops 101.’

Jemma scrunches up her nose at the thought, and he finds himself oddly relieved - even though she’s clearly now realised just how dire things can get, even though she seems to have become accustomed to that, she still doesn’t want to believe it’s a given. She rebels against it. 

She still has a trace amount of that old optimism left.

(It shouldn’t make his chest feel as warm as it does.)

‘Okay, so we’re assuming the worst,’ she concedes, giving him a firm nod. ‘What are you suggesting?’

He falters.

_She’s looking to me._

Trying not to let his surprise show, Ward points in the direction the Inhuman ran. ‘Where does that corridor lead?’

‘It loops around to the main hangar.’

Of course.

‘That’s where they’re coming in from.’

‘Perhaps,’ Jemma hedges. He looks a question at her. ‘Most of them were already, well, here.’

_Ah._

(Any other time, he’d probably stop to reflect on how comical this was getting, with all the internal takeovers these people have weathered.

Later, though.)

‘Then they’ll be looking for an exit.’

‘Not until they search my lab for the compound,’ she points out, bitterness tinging her voice. Her brow is knotted into a frown. ‘They’ll probably mess it all up, too. And _just_ as I was getting used to the set-up.’

Ward grimaces. He’d forgotten about her near-spiritual connection to her lab. 

(What else has his mind lost?)

‘ _Anyway,_ assume everyone from that direction knows I’m not… him.’ His mouth twists in distaste. ‘That means we might have the element of surprise for anyone the other way.’

There’s hesitation written into her very posture. Her fingers fidget with the grip of the pistol she clutches. 

‘That’s quite a large gamble, isn’t it?’

_Yeah._

‘Probably,’ he concedes. ‘But it’s the best we’ve got.’

She chews on her lip, then nods.

‘Right. We can… there’s a small garage around the back corner of the base. It’s not in main use, so I doubt that any of Daisy’s Inhumans know of it.’

_Daisy’s Inhumans._

‘SUVs?’ he asks.

‘Should be. It’s our best shot, at any rate.’

He considers their options for a moment. Grabbing a jet would be better in the long run, with all the emergency equipment inside, but he’s in no shape for the firefight that would ensue if they went to the hangar. Even Jemma, with her newly acquired skill-set, couldn’t hold up in that situation.

And he’s painfully aware that she isn’t wearing any kevlar.

An SUV will have to do.

‘Think you can get us there?’ he grunts, stretching out his aching sides.

The offended _puhlease_ expression she gives him in response brings a genuine smile to his face. He raises his eyebrows.

‘Well okay then.’

They’re interrupted then by another spray of gunfire. Ducking instinctively, Ward pushes Jemma down and shoves her behind him.

‘Hey!’ she squeaks in protest.

‘I’ll lay down cover,’ he barks, peering around the corner. Three gunmen. Easy.

Jemma’s pointed scoff draws his attention. She has a hand on one of her hips and indignant disbelief in her eyes. ‘Laying cover in _your_ condition? I don’t think so.’

‘Simmons…’

‘Just try to keep up, alright?’

‘Don’t - ’ he warns, but it’s too late. She’s run out into the fray again.

_Shit._

He’s going to need to sharpen up or else they’re both going to get killed.

_(I wasn’t going to let you_ **_die_ ** _, Ward.)_

Shit shit shit shit shit.

She’s just ducked into the clearing ahead of him when a body flies at her from nowhere, knocking her off her feet.

_No -_

‘Simmons!’ Ward yells, diving for where she’s been thrown into the wall. It pulls at his side but he barely notices, tearing the black-clad merc off of Jemma’s small frame and aiming a vicious left hook at his face. By the time he’s finished dealing with the guy, Jemma has already clamoured to her feet.

‘Thanks,’ she mutters, all embarrassed reluctance. Ward nods.

That’s when things start getting ugly.

They’ve wandered into an ambush apparently, because their hallway is suddenly a lot more crowded than it had been. Ward switches into something like autopilot, throwing people off of him this way and that, ducking and weaving, all the while propelled by one pulsing thought -  _get Jemma out get Jemma out get Jemma out._

(He can’t even _see_ her anymore.)

Then there’s a weird staticky feeling to the air and a resounding bang, followed by a blindingly bright flash. Ward’s tripping over his feet even as his mind makes the connection.

_Fuck._

Inhumans. 

He’d forgotten.

(And God, what is this shit in the air? Some sort of electricity? Or, _fuck,_ is that lava? What the _fuck -_ )

The same thing (person?) flashes again, the force throwing Ward back into a wall. He groans in pain, his muscles and bones seeming to creak, before shooting a few rounds in the direction of the action. He doesn’t even know if he’s hit anyone, can’t see properly with how clouded the air’s become.

What in the shit -

He’d only been distantly aware of the other bodies that hit the ground around him, but he sure as shit becomes _acutely_ aware when he hears a familiar gasping cry from somewhere to his left.

_Jemma._

Blinking the haze from his eyes, he looks over to see her clutching at her arm, face contorted in agony. There’s blood seeping through the fabric of her shirt.

‘Are you -?’

‘I’m fine!’ she growls, firing off another couple of shots as she climbs to his feet. ‘Just keep going.’

Ward swears, standing up and returning fire himself. And he thinks they’re starting to get the upper hand, he honestly does. 

But then, there’s a shift.

The ground rumbles.

This in and of itself is nothing noteworthy; he’s long since learned that it signals Skye’s (Daisy’s, _Daisy’s_ ) arrival, and that it seems to set the rest of the team at ease.

Which is why the naked fear on Jemma’s face comes as such a shock.

‘Who knows you’re here?’ he calls out, once they’ve found cover just around a corner. Jemma grits her teeth together harder, leaning around the brickwork to fire off a few more shots.

(He never noticed that she’d switched to lead bullets.)

‘Hey!’ he yells, finally getting her attention. ‘Who knows you’re here?’

And she only meets his eyes fleetingly, but it’s enough for him to know beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Oh, God.

_No one knows._

No one knows that she came back for him.

Ward swears sharply, ducking as another round of bullets sprays where he’d been standing only moments before. He shoves Jemma ahead of him, relieved when she doesn’t resist.

‘There!’ she cries out finally, _blessedly,_ bolting for the door tucked away in the corner up ahead. Not needing to be told twice, Ward follows right on her heels, turning around and aiming a few shots back over his shoulder. They both tumble into the nearest car, with Jemma on the driver’s side and Ward falling into a heap in the passenger seat.

Holy _fuck_ that hurt.

Jemma’s swearing as she clutches her arm, a litany of curses that startle even _him_ in their creativity. Ward’s not actually sure he’s heard half of them before.

He’ll be impressed later, though, when her sleeve is less drenched in blood.

Fuck. _Fuck._

‘Hands off,’ Ward instructs, tearing at the fabric of her sleeve once she acquiesces. What he sees makes him inhale sharply; he’d thought it was a bullet graze - or at worse, a slightly deeper wound - but judging by the way it’s bleeding, it could be some kind of… burn, of some kind?

Did an Inhuman get her? What does that even mean? She’s visibly in pain, but what’s the extent of it?

Fuck. There’s no time to find out right now.

‘Switch seats,’ he orders. She whirls to face him, looking for all the world like a cornered, wild creature baring her fangs.

‘I’m driving.’

He gapes.

_You’ve got to be fucking kidding -_

‘You’ve only got one good arm - ’

‘I’m. _Driving,_ ’ she snarls, pulling her arm from his grip. Her teeth gritted together, she tears the panelling off the bottom of the steering wheel, quickly hot-wiring the car with her one good hand (helped minimally by the other hand sitting in her lap).

_Jesus._ What the fuck?

Who even taught her this?

Bullets shatter the back windscreen, causing them both to flinch and duck. She turns to him again, alight with fury.

‘You want to make yourself useful? Lay some cover fire.’

‘You can’t be serious.’

‘Do I look like I’m joking?’

More gunfire. Jemma yanks the car into drive with her bad arm, letting out a surprisingly delicate cry of pain at the jerking motion.

‘ _Fuck_ ,’ he curses, grunting as he leans out the window to shoot at their pursuers.

It takes them a while to get clear - Ward’s out of practice with a firearm, and Jemma is, again, driving with _one hand_  - but once they do, Ward finds he can only stare stupidly at Jemma. He just gapes.

He has -

No words. Nothing outside a single thought.

_Did he do this?_

He’d felt a sense of hollow remorse earlier, when he’d thought she was there to execute him, and he won’t deny the overwhelming relief at her proving him wrong. But even so, even if he didn’t make her into _that_ killer, did he push her to become _this_  - this feral being, willing to kick, claw, and scream her way towards a shot a survival?

Worse still: is it even that bad a thing?

He doesn’t have an answer to that.

After a few more miles of erratic driving, Jemma’s determined expression creases ever deeper and she lifts her butt off the seat, grabbing at her back pocket. Apparently finding what she’s looking for, she sits back down and flicks her hand at him, depositing something in Ward’s lap. Tired brain lagging, he stares at it for a while before registering the reality of it.

It’s a phone.

He blinks.

‘Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture, but - ’

‘Oh, I hardly think it’s something to be _appreciated_ , Ward.’

He looks a question at her; she doesn’t take her eyes off the road, but for the very first time since he woke up, a trace of cruelty finds its way into her expression. 

Oh no.

‘You’re going to call May and tell her the good news.’

Oh, _fuck._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!
> 
> The title comes from 'No Easy Way' by Digital Daggers. This is absolutely, 100% the result of me watching too much _Nikita_ and thinking about how I want this arc to go on AoS - namely, Jem using the compound thing to save Ward from Hive and the whole Civil War storyline leading to an ot6 team-up. 
> 
> (Don't worry, I'm not deluded enough to think it'll actually happen.)
> 
> Also, welcome back @myself!!! I've had some horrid technological difficulties over the past couple of months, not to mention I lost 100% of fic that I'd written (working on recovering it as I write this!!) but I now have the will and the means with which to write once more. Hopefully fic & updates will be forthcoming!!
> 
> Thanks again xx


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